Slowly, Intimately, In Every Way He Knows You Fear
by thedoctorwillsaveyou
Summary: When Natasha Romanoff is captured, Loki goes through with the promise he made her on the airship. Natasha/Clint. Some adult themes and violence. One-shot.


**Unfortunately for all the Loki-adorers, Loki is damn evil here. But don't go away! I adore him too, but I wanted to get some Barton/Romanoff action. I'm very sorry if Romanoff seems to be a bit weak, but I just really wanted to focus on their relationship. Anyways, hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, because if I did there would be a whole lot more Loki.**

* * *

Loki had promised her this. That her death would come at the hand of the one she loved. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knew she feared. That was his sworn oath.

Now, the promise had begun.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff opened her eyes groggily—whichever drug was in her system, it still hadn't worn off. As well as she could, she scanned the room, searching for weapons, escape routes, evidence. This was standard military training. Her blurred eyes lacked the sharpness she was used to, and she began feeling more and more helpless, missing her most vital senses. She gently sat up, and though both her hands were cuffed to their corresponding armrest, her kidnapper had given her more freedom than was wise for a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Not that she was complaining.

During the several hours that passed, she mulled over the possibilities of the battle that was surely still going on. She had been taken after the attack in the S.H.I.E.L.D. airship, whilst most of the attention had been on Loki and the Hulk. It had been a quick grab, after being smashed against the wall by the Hulk's superhuman strength, with her captors making the getaway with Loki. It had been effective, with the entire ship in chaos, and as most agents were still scattered among the disrepair, her disappearance would not have been noticed.

After the drug had fully worn off, two masked figures—they weren't men, they were _things—_came and cuffed her hands together, before unlocking the cuffs to each armrest. She tried the simple but never-failing 'step-on-the-toe-then-head-bash-that-motherfucker' movement, only to be swiftly blocked by their metal hands clamping her neck. Her eyes began to water from the surprising strength of her captors.

"Now, now, I wouldn't recommend any more tactics," a smooth voice wafted through the doorway, before its owner came into view. Loki. He flashed her a sadistic smile, then winked.

"What do you want from me?" Natasha spat at his feet, glaring her signature stare.

"_What do you want from me? Why am I here?"_ Loki mocked. "You humans, so predictable."

He walked up to her slowly, steadily positioning each step. When he reached her, he looked her straight into the eyes, and said, "You _know_ why you're here."

Natasha's eyes betrayed her with a flicker of confusion, and as Loki noticed he gave her a smirk. He gracefully nodded to his two minions, before he turned and stalked out the door, cloak gliding at his tail.

* * *

They approached a solid metal door, with _25468_ engraved on a metallic panel adjacent to it. After a quick fingerprint scan, the sounds of the door's many locks were heard, and then it slowly opened.

The room was furnished, what looked like a living quarters. There was a colour scheme of black and red, which hit Natasha hard—the colours of the Black Widow. There was a second door on the right side, and she expected this to be a bathroom.

The guards unlocked her cuffs and shoved her inside, rapidly closing the door, as she swiftly turned around in an effort to escape. Her fists pounded the door, and when she deemed it hopeless, she took in her surroundings. Bed, chairs, table, lights. Luxurious for a prisoner, but not for someone who had enjoyed more luxurious things. Surprisingly, she had not been able to spot a camera, or any sort of bugging device.

She attentively positioned herself on a chair, but when it seemed like there were no hidden surprises, she closed her eyes and relied only on her hearing.

She heard the door open. She heard his steady breathing as he stood there. She heard him say, in that pristine voice, "Romanoff". She gradually opened her eyes. His eyes were laid on her, memorising her.

She knew she could not get out of this—she could not hurt him, she would never hurt him, and she cursed Loki's cleverness. Gradually she began to tremble—first her lips, then hands, then arms. She eyed Barton uncertainly, waiting for him to make his move.

"You remember Budapest?" he asked, a nostalgic expression forming on his face. He looked like him, like the one she knew, the one she loved.

Natasha nodded slowly. "You told me you'd never let me go through anything alone. You'd always be there."

"Loki knows this. That's the cruelest part. He knows I promised you that. And that's why I'm here. So you don't have to die alone." He looked at her then, painfully.

The news set in slowly—this would be her final resting place. Escape was unlikely-there was no telling what Loki might do to Clint if she tried. So she began to cry, beginning with a sniffle, and ending in a stream of tears.

"But, you'll still be here. Hold my hand. When they do it. When they shoot me," she pleads.

He walked up to her and embraced her, burying his head into her fiery hair. "Natasha.." he whispered, holding her. "Natasha," he repeated, "that's the thing. _They_ won't be doing it."

She looked up at him through watered eyes. "What do you mean?"

A pause. "What I mean, Nat, is that they've sent someone else to do it."

A puzzled look crossed her face. "Who?"

Clint began to really cry then, the pain clearly shown on his face. "Me."

Natasha looked at him, caressed his wet face, whispering his name over again. "Clint. _My_ Clint."

"I can't do it, Nat. You're all I've got left, and I couldn't live knowing that...that..." he trailed off, leaving them both to the sound of their muffled tears.

"Shh, Clint," Natasha whispered. "You have to do it. They'll kill you if you don't." Her eyes widened in realisation. "No, no. Clint, you can't. I couldn't take—"

"I have to. In another hour, if you're not dead, they'll turn their..._magic_...back on. I won't be able to control myself." Carefully, Clint brought out his Glock, and tried to hand it to her. "I've already gotten rid of surveillance. A quick shot through the head, Nat, that's all it'll take. You could get out in no time using my security pass."

Natasha shook her head rapidly, but reached for the gun all the same. She took it, but she didn't aim it at him. "You were sent to kill me. If you won't, Clint, _I_ will." She hurriedly positioned the pistol at her temple, but it was knocked from her grasp before she pulled the trigger. Clint looked terrified, but ready to take on any other threat to her life.

"Don't. Nat. Please." he stammered.

Natasha began to cry again, then reached around his neck and kissed him. It was slow, memorable, as if trying to fit all the years they could have had into the short time they had been left with. They both knew one was going to die, but they both knew that the one they wanted to live was the other. Gradually, the kiss broke off, and both said to the other softly. "Don't make me live without you."

They looked at each other, and in that one look is all the words they will never be able to say. All their hopes and dreams, their wishes for a better life for the children they had hoped to have. All the laughter, a white wedding, naming their first child—things in-love couples were supposed to live for. But the regrets were there too—the glances they'd exchanged when they first met, and then the flirtatious teasing. The the secret kisses they'd slipped to each other but had never blossomed into something so much more, until Budapest. So little time they'd shared together.

She pulled him in again, their minds losing track of where they were, the scenario they were in. In their minds, they only needed each other, and everything would be fine if they had their vital other half.

He picked her up and twirled her gently, leading her to the made-up bed and propping her up onto his lap as he sat there, without either of their lips leaving the other. Natasha began to put her hand up his back, feeling the strength, feeling protected. Clint snaked one hand up into her hair, tangling it in her curls.

The passion began to grow—tongues intertwining, wrapping themselves around each other and becoming one being. Natasha pushed against Clint, forcing him backward onto the mattress until she lay on top of him. Clint lowered his kisses and planted them in a neat row along her neck, whilst she buried her face into his hair, inhaling his scent.

Eventually, both their shirts lay on the floor, but that was as far as they went. They wanted this to be love, not lust. As Natasha rested her head against his chest, he gently traced words onto her back with his finger, prompts to memories. As she turned around, he traced another word onto her back. _Budapest_.

"I remember Budapest. Fury put us on a mission that was far too simple for two highly trained agents. After that, I've always just suspected he was just trying to match us up." Natasha mused.

Clint chuckled, and Natasha felt his chest rising. "Actually, I asked him. I asked him to pair me with you. Just for the one mission. It wasn't as if it was an important mission, and we took them out just fine."

Natasha looked up and gaped at him. "All this time? You've just...you've just been...you could have just _asked._"

Clint raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Really? You were just _too_ terrifying." Natasha aimed a punch at his face, but let her fist fall and giggled instead.

* * *

After a comfortable silence, she spoke softly. "I love you."

Clint stroked her hair, and replied with equal volume. "I love you too, Nat."

He pulled her up level to his face, and gently kissed her again. "You're my beautiful Natasha."

She smiled at him, and replied, "And you're my beautiful Clint.", before pressing her lips against his. The kiss started gently, but suddenly she could feel a sharp stinging pain in her back. As she looked back,, she saw Clint raking his fingernails down her back, but this wasn't an intimate, lusty kind of raking. She looked down at her lover, and saw that his eyes were a tinged blue. Loki's magic.

"C-Clint" she stuttered. He looked passively back at her, before catapulting her off the side of the bed, onto the tiled floor. A streak of blood stained the tiles. She began to get up, but realised that her survival would mean Clint's certain death, and remained where she was. Clint slid off the bed robotically, before grabbing a porcelain vase and smashing down onto her exposed body. Grabbing the largest of the shards that littered the floor with his right hand, he took Natasha into a choke hold, hoisted her up and pushed her against the wall. He looked into her eyes then—and Natasha could see his expression flickering, and she knew that _her_ Clint was fighting it. But he couldn't fight it fast enough. With their noses and lips gently touching, he dragged the pointed tip across her cheek, splitting it and allowing the blood to flow freely. "...Please.." she groaned.

"Na..sha" a slight gurgle escaped Clint's lips, but his hardened expression returned and he stabbed the porcelain shard into her stomach, causing a scream of pain to escape her lips. She slid to the floor, clutching her wounded chest. Clint was screaming then, looking like the Hulk when he was trying not to lose control. He was curled up, digging his fingernails into his arms so hard they began to bleed. He was panting heavily, his eyes tightly shut.

He began to drag himself to the table setup where they began their conversation. He looked bizarre—one hand trying desperately to prevent him, the other succeeding in pulling him over. Once he had reached the set up, he gradually lifted himself up. Natasha saw what was in his hand. His Glock. His face was fighting a battle with itself-the two forces fighting for domination. He raised the gun hesitantly, sometimes bringing it down again, before it was pointing steadily at her. There was silence, but for the wheezing Clint was making, his index finger twitching as he desperately tried not to pull the trigger. He tried, and he tried. But he pulled the trigger.

The bullet lodged itself into Natasha's chest, but she didn't die instantly. She was groaning in pain, tears streaming down her face, yet still calling for him. Whispering his name. Coaxing the real Clint out. The sight of this gave him enough strength-and he launched himself at her, crying, cursing himself.

"Natasha, oh, Natasha, I—you'll be al—I can find—oh God—Natasha look at me! Keep your eyes open Natasha!" He cupped her face in her hands, pleading with her, but she looked back only through slits.

A moan left her lips. "...Clint. I—I love you."

As the tears trailed down his face, he told her the same thing. "And I love you, my beautiful Natasha."

Her eyes closed little by little, until her eyelids hid her stare from him.

Clint was screaming, cursing himself, pounding his fists against the walls. He had tried so hard, but his own lack of strength had led to her demise. It was his fault. The tears dripped onto her face, and he gently wiped them away with his thumb. Brushing her hair. Holding her hand. He couldn't let her go. Not when there was so much they were supposed to do. He lay there for minutes, but what felt like hours.

He spied it then. His Glock. One single bullet left.

He reached for it, contemplating. Turning it over in his hand. It would not be what Natasha wanted him to do. But right now, all he wanted to do was be with her, and nothing else mattered. He had nothing left here-with her gone. He could end it right now, and the bullet would be for him. He could eat his gun right here, and all his troubles would vanish. He would be with her.

He looked at her, pressing her hands to his face and kissing them. "I'll be with you soon, Nat." he assured her. Taking one last caress, one last kiss, one last stroke of her magnificent hair.

He realised he had another option. Though this was not what Natasha would have wanted, he could kill himself right now and be with her.

Or he could avenge her.

* * *

**Geddit? Geddit? Avenge-her, Avenger. Yeah, lame, I know. And I know they're a bit OOC too. Still I just really wished there were more implications of them loving each other. I'm really sorry they don't get their perfect little ending. I was originally going to make him kill himself, but that would have been a little too dark, no? **

**Yeah, and the numbers are actually 'CLINT' when you type it into a mobile. Lame, but I like including little things. Thanks for reading, and review if you wish, too (:  
**

**P.S. Please let me know if you think that this should be rated M instead. I'm not very clear with all these ratings.**


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